


The Ruse

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Computers, Deception, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18408557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon, Illya, Mark Slate and April Dancer are all in on this risky mission. There's funerals, disguises, deception and a bit of lustiness used to cleverly infiltrate THRUSH Central in order to destroy the new Ultimate Computer.





	1. Chapter 1

 [](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18408557/chapters/43599248)

  

 

 

 

Napoleon Solo wasn't one for funerals, and this one was the hardest one he'd have to attend thus far in his career in the world of espionage.

No one wanted to believe it when it happened. Mark Slate was supposed to live, he was supposed to make it to the age of forty and his retirement from the field.

The irony of it was that he was not brought down by T.H.R.U.S.H. or some enemy agent...no, the ever amicable Brit was struck down by a taxi in the middle of Trafalgar Square.

His injuries were serious enough but shouldn't have been fatal; instead his heart gave out on him and he went into cardiac arrest. It took too long to get him to hospital and he just couldn't be saved.

An autopsy performed revealed a heart defect that had somehow been missed by U.N.C.L.E. medical personnel. There hadn't been a history of heart problems in his family and it was assumed the chemicals he'd been injected with over the years may have done something to his heart. Though not having overt effects, the drugs must have contributed to his condition. Still there was no proof positive, the autopsy results were inconclusive as to that question.

For that reason Mark Slate's death was deemed an accident, the unforeseen consequences of a traumatic event It was fast, they said. He hadn't suffered, though that offered little consolation to Slate's partner, April Dancer.

She stood, stiff-lipped with reddened eyes beside Napoleon Solo; the senior agent slipping his hand around hers and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

To his other side, stood Mark's often ebullient sister Marie Suzette, who was uncharacteristically quiet. There were no remarks coming from her stating that if she'd been there, she could have saved him. That was very typical of the woman, as she was a bit of a Mary Sue, though in reality she was beyond gifted, and if she'd made the comment, it would not have been surprising.

Claims such as that were typical of Marie Suzette as she was a brilliant scientist and physician, and in all truth she probably could have rescued her brother from his fate. * Probably...

She clung to Solo's other arm for support, not saying a thing and simply wiped her sniffling nose with a hankie. There were no words, no braggadocio from her this day as her grief had silenced her.

"Oh Napoleon,"April whispered. "I could understand him going in the field, but not like this. It was so...so senseless, meaningless. Mark was willing to sacrifice his life for others day after day and this is his reward?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense sweetheart, but things happen for a reason," he tried comforting her.

Solo had delivered the eulogy in Alexander Waverly's stead as it was deemed too dangerous for the head of Section I to travel to Great Britain on such short notice for a funeral.

Basic security arrangements had been made by Harry Beldon, but when he discovered he was not to deliver the eulogy, he conveniently fell ill and was unable to attend the funeral.

That was fine with April, Illya, Napoleon and the other agents present, as Beldon's over the top demeanor and standard of dress were always an attention getter. Besides, he barely knew the agent. This wasn't supposed to be about him...it was about Mark Slate.

 

"I'm am glad that ponce Beldon was put off by Napoleon. I have to say the eulogy he delivered was quite good," Mark felt a little puffed up about Solo's words.

"I too have been present for my own eulogy delivered by my partner," Illya couldn't resist giving the Brit a dig.."He definitely knows how to embellish and is quite the thespian."

"Embellish, what was embellished?"

"Shusssh, Mark. Keep your voice down,"Illya said. "Better still, we should end our discussion for now lest someone overhear us."

The sky was dark and overcast and looked like it was ready to open up in a downpour.

They watched as the _**cream**_ colored casket was carried down the church steps, and carefully loaded into the _**hearse**_ by the pallbearers.

"A cream colored casket? I would have expected something a bit more masculine," a man leaned over, whispering to Illya Kuryakin who stood at a safe distance from his partner and April, but most especially Mark's sister.*

"Sorry...Mark, but it was the best we could do at last minute, and besides it is not like you are in it." The Russian lowered his tinted glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"I do believe your false mustache is slipping my friend."

"Oops, sorry guv," Slate quickly adjusted his disguise, pressing it against his upper lip. "Poor April. There's no way you could let her in on this?"

"No it had to be believable."

"She's a good actress mate."

"We needed to be real. Trust me…" Kuryakin winked. "I will see you in New York." The Russian melted away into the crowd, disappearing from sight.

The mourners piled into the waiting cars parked nearby to take them to the Slate family plot in Northern England for the internment.

Mark disappeared as well, grabbing a taxi.

"Heathrow airport please," he told the driver, just as the sky opened up in a torrential downpour. "Lovely day for a funeral," Slate sarcastically thought to himself as it began to pour. 

"Cor guv'nor, it's bloody raining cats and dogs it is," the cab driver remarked. 

Suddenly Jonathan Swift's poem 'Description of a City Shower' popped into Slate's head and he recited part of it aloud.

" _Sweeping from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood, Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud, Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down the Flood."_

"That's a might grim, what was that gov?" The driver asked.

"I agree, just a poem that came to mind. A funeral is a bit grim, especially when it's your own."

The driver screwed up his face in confusion; figuring he had a bit of a loon in his cab, he decided not to reply and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

Once settled in the back seat of the black hackney, the agent peeled off his false mustache, bushy eye brows, and mutton chops. Taking off his tweed cap and running his fingers through his hair, Mark gave a sigh of relief. He had the gist of what this was all about, but hoped the details would be clearer once he arrived in New York for further briefing

 

 

* reference to the Mary Sue Challenge on LiveJournal: <https://section7mfu.livejournal.com/240765.html>

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mark Slate passed by the familiar and for the most part, welcoming entrance to headquarters at Del Floria's Tailor shop. It was early and the first light of day helped to cast sharp shadows at every glance as he continued to walk along the sidewalk. He was going into headquarters, but via an alternate entrance.

It was the British agent's favorite time of day; the city streets were quiet and it was a welcome change of pace in the usually bustling metropolis of New York city.

Alexander Waverly was no doubt waiting patiently for his arrival; he seemed to be at headquarters no matter what time of day and it was rumored the man never slept.

The plan was for Slate to get into headquarters using the secret entrance in the Masque Club at the end of the block, and not go through Del Floria's. Though the tailor shops was purported to be a secret entrance, it was well known to too many enemy agents. Agents Waverly didn't want seeing that Mark Slate was still among the living.

Slate was in disguise again, with his U.N.C.L.E. ID indicating he was an agent from the Paris division. He walked along the little used corridors leading from the club to the main section of headquarters, all the while under the watchful eye of the Security's cameras. His presence set off no alarms as he'd received a visitors badge waiting for him at the reception desk located in the back of the club.

This time Mark sported a dark wig in a hairstyle not unlike Kuryakin's, along with the addition of a goatee, a false nose and a set of pearly white upper teeth, making for a perfect Solo-like smile.

He was able to pass muster as he arrived in front of Lisa Roger's desk, and there he waited to be granted access to the conference room. She was sharp and in essence, being Waverly's personal body guard as well as his assistant, her discerning eyes would have picked up on anything out of place

Lisa pressed the button on her intercom. "Mr. Waverly sir, Agent Charles Chevalier is here for his appointment."

"Yes, thank you. Send him in Miss Rogers and I want no interruptions. Unless the end of the world is taking place, it can wait. When Solo, Kuryakin and Dancer arrive, send them in immediately."

"Yes sir." She smiled at the handsome Frenchman. "Monsieur you can go in now."

"Merci Mademoiselle." He reached out, taking her hand and kissed it, using one of Napoleon's familiar tricks to charm the ladies.

"Oh Mr. Chevalier," Lisa actually blushed; unusual as she was known in headquarters for being a no-nonsense person, even unaffected by the charms of Solo himself.

She was the only woman at headquarters who'd actually turned Napoleon down for a date, not once but multiple times. For a while it became a battle of wills as to who would surrender, and once it happened, Napoleon was the one who finally threw in the towel.

"Please ma cherie, call me Charles." Mark laid it on thick, trying to be as charming as the American CEA, if not more so. He suspected his French accent would no doubt help.

"Why thank you Charles, I hope we get to meet again, maybe for a drink perhaps?"

"Il est possible Mademoiselle Lisa, mais je ne peux pas faire de promesses.(It's possible Miss Lisa, but I can't make any promises)

It was all Mark could do to keep from chuckling. He could have had a date with the infamous Lisa Rogers while Napoleon couldn't, and that sort of gave him bragging rights, well after the fact.…and it wasn't with him exactly, it was the persona and looks of Chevalier that had charmed her and not his shy British self.

The pneumatic doors opened with a whoosh and without a word Alexander Waverly gestured with a wave of his hand for Slate to be seated. He puffed on his briar pipe, finally releasing a few smoke rings in the air above his head before he at last spoke.

"You were able to pass inspection Mr. Slate, no one recognized you?"

"As far as I know sir, "he dropped the fake French accent. "Miss Rogers seemed convinced and that to me was the ultimate test."

"No young man, the penultimate test will be your partner. I have received word that she, Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin have just arrived." Waverly made his pronouncement before sending a file around on the circular table to his agent.

"I'll be sending you into a nest of hornets young man so I need to know if you're still comfortable with this ruse. It isn't everyday we try infiltrate THRUSH Central to sabotage the latest version of their Ultimate Computer."

"Sir wouldn't Mr. Kuryakin have been the better choice for that sort of task? I know I'm repeating myself and I apologize."

"Young man I have deemed you most capable of completing this mission. Mr. Kuryakin is simply too well known to them, both in and out of disguise. So I'll hear none of these second thoughts. Now are you ready for this mission or not Mr. Slate?"

"Yes sir I understand and I'm ready for the assignment. May I ask why I had to be surreptitiously killed in London since I'll be going in under disguise."

"All the more to throw them off the scent. That's why we've gone to so much trouble to stage your death and funeral. THRUSH would never conceive of a dead man infiltrating their inner sactum, even in disguise. Though their records would show Mark Slate as being deceased, so they would hardly expect you to walk in their front door. Your disguise is just a little added insurance, that and the fact that you have a slight resemblance to one of their people who we've captured recently."

"I see. And when exactly is my partner due here sir."

"I suspect she and the others will be coming through the doors just about now…"

As if Waverly was psychic, the doors to his conference room indeed opened and in walked the jet-lagged trio of Dancer, Solo and Kuryakin.

"Good morning. I hope you flight home was smoothe. Please sit down."

As the three took their seats, Waverly made the introductions.

"Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, Miss Dancer may I present Mr. Charles Chevalier of our Paris office. He will be point on our next mission to infiltrate T.H.R.U.S.H. Central here in New York. He was chosen for this assignment because of the physical similarities he has in common with this man." The Old Man flicked a switch on his control panel lowering a video screen.

Nods went all around before Waverly spoke again.

"This is Rene Boucher, dubbed the 'butcher' as he is an assassin for hire who has just declared his allegiance with our feathered friends."

"By the way, Miss Dancer, you 'ave my condolences on the loss of your partner." Mark said to her.

"Thank you. He'll be missed very much, but the sooner I can get back to work, the faster I can get him off my mind."

"I was acquainted with your partner and 'e was a very good agent, quite clever and resourceful. 'E will most certainly be missed, n'est-ce pas?

Napoleon flashed Mark the stinkeye, thinking the Brit was laying it on a bit too much.

"Yes indeed he was," Solo interrupted Slate's soliloquy."Mr. Waverly sir, suppose I show Mr. Chevalier around headquarters, since I presume he'll be here awhile."

"Yes that's an excellent idea. Get him acclimated as he prepares for his assignment at week's end. You three will be his backup team on the outside so I will leave the strategy up to you, Mr. Solo."

As the four agents stood, Waverly spoke to April.

"Miss Dancer if you would please remain as I wish to speak to you about something."

The three men left, quickly heading for Solo and Kuryakin's shared office and as the doors closed behind them Napoleon spoke out.

"What exactly were you trying to do Mark, blow your cover already?"

"Hey mate if April was be able to figure out it was me then I'd be as good as dead walking into Central's headquarters with a cover that just wasn't foolproof. I figure I have to be that good."

"Napoleon, Mark is right. If he could not get one over on April how can he expect to mislead T.H.R.U.S.H. He is going in alone as one of their own and his performance must be flawless."

"I reckon April couldn't handle me dying twice. She's going to think me a right foul git and be mad enough at me as it is for her not being kept in the loop." Slate sat down on the leather sofa with a sigh.

"April just might be the one to really kill you when she finds out the truth Mark," Illya half-smiled."Or perhaps your sister."

"I think I'll have better odds of surviving with the birdies"

"One can only hope my friend,"Napoleon snickered.

"Oy, thanks a lot mate, that was a really encouraging thought."

"We aim to please. Now let's talk a little strategy."

"What about April? Shouldn't we wait for her?"

"Our next meeting will be all about April, as I've decided to send her in with you. Every professional criminal needs his gun moll so to speak, and she'll be yours."

"And when was this decided?"Mark asked. "Does Mr. Waverly know?"

"Well no not exactly. He did say the strategy was left up to me."

"I'm not so sure she's ready for this," Mark said."I can tell she was pretty traumatized by my untimely death."

"She has to be ready. April is tougher than you think I suspect," Illya added.

"I hope so mate."


	3. Chapter 3

"Miss Dancer," Waverly relit his pipe, pausing befoe he spoke to her; his bushy eyebrows arched as he did so.

"I know you're putting on a brave face at the loss of your partner, but my dear I want to know how you feel about going on this assignment?"

April shifted her position in her chair, choosing her words carefully before responding to her boss.

"As I already said sir, the sooner I can get back to work, the faster I can get Mark off my mind. He's been haunting me a lot, I have to admit. I mean, that Mr. Chevalier, he reminded me of Mark..it's like I've been seeing him everywhere, even at his funeral. I know it's just my imagination, but it is rather upsetting. Perhaps I'm not ready for this assignment after all sir?"

"Nonsense, you're fine. Grief can play strange tricks on the mind I assure you. After experiencing the traumatic loss of a partner, it's normal to have some self doubts, but I have full confidence in you Miss Dancer. You, Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin are the backup team. It's Mr. Chevalier whose shoulders will bear the burden and the danger. Now I believe you need to catch up with your teammates as they are no doubt scheming and strategizing as we speak."

"Yes sir," April slowly rose from her chair." I appreciate the faith you have in me."

Waverly cleared his throat,"Ahem...yes, quite. Now dismissed young lady."

Dancer made her way to Solo and Kuryakin's office only to find Napoleon there by himself.

She locked the doors behind her as they closed, and in seconds she was in his arms, letting herself be embraced by her lover.

"We haven't been alone one second since before the funeral. Are you really all right?" He whispered to her, running his hand through her auburn hair.

"I am, and I don't feel like being alone at the moment."

Napoleon looked at his wristwatch. "I have nothing on my schedule for today, so let's go to my place. I'll make you dinner, and you can spend the night if you feel like it."

"Darling, I would like that very much."

They left headquarters together, taking a taxi to Solo's apartment building. Once inside they tossed their coats aside and snuggled together on the sofa, with Napoleon wrapping his arms around her.

There'd be no love-making tonight, he knew that. It wasn't what April needed. She needed comfort, and reassurance that she wasn't alone as her world had been turned topsy turvy.

He hated like hell lying to her about Mark and debated whether he should tell her or not. Really her part in the ruse was to show genuine grief at Slate's loss. That was over and done with, so what purpose would it serve to continue to keep her in the dark?

He looked down at her beautiful face, peaceful now as he gently stroking her her cheek with his finger and realized she'd fallen asleep.

Napoleon stayed there with her for a bit before lowering her down to the sofa cushions; covering her with a throw blanket.

He got up and headed to the kitchen, deciding to make chicken cacciatore along with a Ceasar salad, not for two but for four.

Contacting Illya via communicator, he told his partner to bring Mark over for dinner, warning them April was here. She needed to know.

Slate was staying at Kuryakin's apartment on the floor below, given the fact he was supposed to be dead and therefore couldn't go home to his own place across town. It was ill advised for him to stay at heaquarters since he couldn't remain there in the disguise of Chevalier twenty-four/seven.

When April woke, the table was already set, and she stretched with a contented smile. She took note there were four place settings and not two. She got up, walking quietly to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Napoleon's waist as he stood at the counter, tossing the salad.

"Did I ever tell you how cute you look in an apron?"

"Cute is a word that applies to you my dear, me...I'm the handsome type." He smiled at her.

April laughed while reaching with around with her hand, grabbing a piece of romaine lettuce and munching on it.

"Mmm, good. I'm starving. Do I smell chicken...no spaghetti?" She saw the pot of pasta on the boil.

"Starving for just food or...?" He whispered flirtatiously, letting his libido awaken just a bit.

The doorbell rang, interrupting Napoleon's question.

"I'll get it darling. Who's joining us, Illya and a date?"

"You could say that...look April I need to tell you something important." It was too late as she'd already left the kitchen and was at the door in seconds.

She checked through the peep hole and seeing Illya, she didn't hesitate opening up. April saw someone standing behind the Russian but when he stepped aside, she wasn't ready for the shock she received.

The two men came inside as she stood there with her mouth hanging wide open.

"Better close that befoe a fly gets in there luv."

"Mark?" She gasped before throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around the man in a tight hug.

Slate returned the embrace, rubbing her back with his hands as he tried to comfort her. Once April stopped crying she stepped back.

"How...? I saw your body in the morgue, there was the funeral. Your sister Marie Suzette was speechless, which I have to say is near impossible for that to happen."

"Which is why it had to look real. It's all part of the Old Man's strategy at throwing THRUSH off the scent. They'd never suspect a dead man impersonating one of their own luv." You see, I'm Charles Chevalier, ma cherie," he momentarily switched to a heavy French accent. "I'm the one posing as him, posing as the 'Butcher' and infiltrating Central."

"So you all knew and I didn't?"

"It had to be that way April," Napoleon said, walking up behind her. "We needed your grief to be genuine. You know THRUSH agents were watching the funeral."

April spun around without warning; slapping Solo across the face.

"You bastard! Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you trust me? You led me on and let me continue to grieve, and then bringing me back here to console me? Of all the dirty…"

Napoleon rubbed his reddened cheek. "April, I intended to speak you about it but the doorbell rang. If you hadn't fallen asleep on the sofa I would have told you sooner and by the way Illya knew too."

"Oh so this is my fault?" She hissed.."And you too Illya? You were in on this?"

At this point Kuryakin had discreetly stepped back out of slapping range. "Unfortunately we were under orders by Mister Waverly to keep you out of the loop."

"Since when do you all follow orders to the letter?"

The three men lowered their heads like contrite school children, listening as April scolded them until at last one by one she finally forgave them...sort of. Mr. Waverly, on the other hand, was going get an earful from her once the mission was over.

At last they sat down to dinner, and as Dancer was seated beside her partner, she turned, staring at him.

"It's really me if that's what you're thinking ducks." Mark speared a piece of chicken with his fork, popping it into his mouth.

"No that's not it. When we were at your so-called funeral I saw someone who looked like you but with a moustache and wearing a cap. Was that you?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Seeing someone who looked like you there and this morning, meeting Charles Chevalier...who I thought looked like you as well, I felt like I was losing my mind as if I were imagining you everywhere. I should have trusted my instincts and known something was going on, but I was too busy being caught up in my grief. That's not going to happen again."

"As an agent, you've experienced a new lesson April," Illya said."We must learn to sublimate such feelings as they can color our perceptions and allow us to make mistakes. I am not saying grief is inappropriate, I am just saying it is something that must be short-lived. It can endanger your life as it can be a distraction."

"Hmmm, I guess that's why Mr. Waverly asked me again if I was ready for this assignment."

"And what did you tell him luv?"

"I repeated what I'd said earlier, that I wanted to get back to work and get you out of my head, darling." She raised her glass of wine for a toast.

"Here's to dead partners and their resurrection."

"Better still,"Mark smiled.'Here's to live partners and their staying that way."

"Here here," Solo and Kuryakin said in unison.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

The end of the week arrived as it normally would but there was nothing normal about what four Section II agents would be doing.

Infiltrating THRUSH Central was no easy task, as with UNCLE, it was presumed they had numerous and perhaps more deadly security measures in place.

Napoleon Solo being the master strategist had reworked the plan, with April Dancer now accompanying her partner in disguise as the Thrushman Charles Chevalier. Together they'd enter enemy headquarters to complete the mission, and that was to destroy the newest version of the Ultimate Computer.

Their ruse was that they possessed the UNCLE master codes and the location of every field office, sub-station and outpost around the world. Such information in THRUSH hands would result in a bloodbath as they could eliminate all of the agents at those locations. The codes would also give them access to the most top secret of UNCLE communications.

The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement was the only true roadblock in THRUSH's mission to subjugate the planet, once out of the way every nation would bow to their organization, whose very name touted their desire for worldwide domination.

Such were the supposed carrots that Mark Slate aka Charles Chevalier, would dangle in front of their greedy noses, and ones they no doubt couldn't resist.

The team of agents exited their vehicle a block away from Central's main entrance. The feathered ones seemed to favor using a men's haberdashery as their cover, which Solo always thought to be a great idea.

"Gee I wonder if they're carrying any of the Italian designers?"

Napoleon made the off-handed remark as he walked side by side with his partner along the sidewalk, knowing it would just irk the man. It was an attempt to lighten the tension, though Illya might not get that as he tended to be very single-minded and focused. Perhaps moreso, wound very tightly when they were on assignments such as this. Everything needed to go like clockwork, otherwise they could lose Slate and Dancer.

"My friend I swear you have a one track mind at times," Illya remarked, but when he saw Napoleon gaping at April as she removed her coat and exited the car, he amended his statement. "Correction you have a two track mind…"

Solo's eyes opened wide as he saw how she was rather scantily clad in the shortest black mini-dress he'd ever seen. It was low cut as well, revealing a good deal of cleavage. Her auburn hair was gatherered up into a sort of French twist, and completing her ensemble was a pair of black stiletto heels.

Mark on the other hand was looking rather natty, dressed in a grey sharkskin suit, sporting a fedora with a black walking cane being twirled in his right hand.

"April," Napoleon spoke into the microphone clipped beneath his lapel. "I hope you're wearing panties under that? If you bend over you'll be giving the whole world quite a sight."

She grinned, hearing Solo's voice in her earpiece, and responded into the microphone sewn into the cuff of her sleeve.

"That's for me to know and you to find out later, lover boy and a few Thrushies, that is..." she flirted unmercifully.

"And where exactly do you have your gun? He continued his interrogation."

"Again darling, that's for me to know," she giggled. Like a magician, some secrets just couldn't be revealed.

"Hey mates let's keep the eyes on the prize please and focus. A last run though if you don't mind?" Slate interrupted.

"Go ahead Mark," Illya spoke into his own mic.

We'll enter Central using my Thrush ID taken from the real Chevalier. I'll tell them I need to input time sensitive data into the Ultimate Computer that will bring about the downfall of U.N.C.L.E. April will use her feminine wiles to distract any birdies while I plant my explosives to destroy said computer and then we'll make a hasty retreat from the building."

Illya continued where Mark left off." This will have to be accomplished within twenty minutes as we will cause a distraction out in the store front to draw out as many guards as possible. Of course if you do not return in a reasonable amount of time that means…"

"Don't go there darling." April said," but but if we are captured, we've been instructed to use our pills…"

"We're not going to be captured luv, this is going to go off flawlessly," Mark reassured her.

"Just be careful you two," Napoleon interrupted. At that moment he ached to take April in his arms for one last embrace, as he had a bad feeling about her involvement in this operation.

Illya was right in reminding them they needed to control their emotions and sublimate their feelings. Letting them control him would cause a danger to himself and the others. Napoleon pushed his concerns for Dancer aside. He had to concentrate on the task at hand.

Solo and Kuryakin waited at a reasonable distance, watching as the others entered the 'Passerine Haberdashers;' passerine related to the latin term Passer Domesticus, the scientific name of the eponymous species, the house sparrow and ultimately from the term passer for Passer sparrows and other similar small birds… the class of which thrush were members.

Mark sauntered into the shop with an air of arrogant confidence, followed by April who walked rather provocatively, swaying her hips and snapping a wad of gum in her mouth. They were both pleasantly surprised being greeted by the tinkling of a brass bell at the door, not unlike the one at Del Floria's.

"Can I help you sir," a balding, hawk nosed shopkeeper asked, eyeing the two with suspicion. For a haberdasher he was dressed most unstylishly, sporting an oversized grey cardigan sweater. His shirt and bown trousers were ill-fitting as well.

Mark drew his T.H.R.U.S.H. ID card from his breast pocket, making sure the fellow saw his luger nestled in his shoulder holster.

"Oh...OH….um Mr. Chevalier. Yes sir. I have your suit ready for you in the back, it's being pressed. If you just step through the curtains my assistant will help you."

"Merci Monsieur."

"...but not the young lady."

"And why 'ees this?" Slate demanded."She 'ees with moi!"

"She doesn't have the proper credentials."

"She weeel as she 'is, 'ow you say...a new recruit and for the moment she is my partner and paramour."

"Oh, well when you put it that way. Go ahead in Miss."

April snapped her gum as her reply.

They passed through the curtain, following a short corridor to a small room and there they were met by a receptionist, who greeted them.

"Welcome back Monsieur Chevalier, we didn't expect to see you this soon...and this is?"

"Mademoiselle Candy Sweet, my new partner in crime. She wishes to join zee organization and has many unique talents to offer. First things first 'owever. I have vital information that must be immediately input into our Ultimate Computer. It is information that is time sensitive and will bring down our arch nemesis L'UNCLE. If they find these files have gone missing...in about twenty minutes, we will lose out on our window of opportunity to take control of zeir computer systems, and access all zeir secret files. So dépêchez-vous ma chère. (hurry up my dear)."

"Yes sir, right away. I'll just call the Commandant to notify the Council..."

"Non, Mademoiselle, now! Time 'ees wasting. We 'ave but minutes to do zis."

His attitude and demeanor were confident enough to bully her into cooperating. She hit the switch opeing the next door through which they needed to pass to gain final entry.

"Yes sir right away, this way...well you know that," she nervously chattered.

Mark moved quickly through their primary entrance, with April right behind him. Luckily they had an escort taking them right to where they needed to go, so there was no guesswork in finding it, even though they had an idea where it was located.

The Ultimate Computer stood there in the middle of the room, a grey hulking machine whirring with its flashing lights; its memory storing all the evil of THRUSH.

A security guard sat behind a table and stood as Mark and April entered the room.

"Credentials please."

Slate flashed his ID as well as a small piece of paper.

"I 'ave little time and must enter these codes before UNCLE knows zey are missing. Out of my way."

Mark stepped up to the machine, seating himself in front of the keyboard and screen located on the console pretending he was about to type in an access code.

"So handsome," April leaned forward on the table, giving the Thrushman a spectacular view of her breasts." You like working here at Central?" She had a cherry red lipstick in her hand and applied it slowly, sensually, getting his full attention as she puckered up her lips. She acknowledged his ogling her breasts and pushed them together. "You like these cherries honey? Maybe after your shift I can give you a little taste, and maybe you can give me what you got...right down here." She reached her hand beneath her skirt, massaging her crotch.

"Yeah, there's good benefits and especially good benefits when babes like you stop by. Wanna come with me to my office baby, we don't have to wait to the end of my shift. I have something nice and big to give you."

He walked around the table, taking a glance at what Slate was doing.

April knew the risks of such provacative behavior, especially if she were captured. She was in essence setting herself up for the very abuses she feared, but she had to do it. It was her job and she needed to give Mark time to do his. Inside her mouth, she ran her tongue along the false tooth containing the suicide pill.

"Oh my, how clumsy of me?" She blurted out as she dropped her lipstick on the floor and bent over, giving the THRUSH guard a view he never expected...that was enough of a distraction to allow Slate to plant the more powerful gelignite plastic explosives and timers exactly where he needed.

The question of her wearing panties or not was definitely answered as Solo listened in. Mark however, had no time to steal a glance.

.

C4 wouldn't do, not for this job, Illya suggested a different compound, though a little less stable, it was more powerful. This was a one-shot deal and would be hard to manage. Gelignite would ensure the job would be completely done in spite of it being more dangerous to use. Leave it to Kuryakin to select such an explosive...

Mark completed his task while April kept the guard occupied. The man had pulled her to him and was just about to put his had up under her skirt as he knew what freely awaited his probing fingers.

The timers were set to go off in three minutes, not leaving much of an opportunity to escape, but it had to be. They couldn't give anyone the time to disarm the devices if found. Slate and Dancer both knew they were expendible.

"Yeah honey, show me more of what you got!" The guard, now fully distracted, was nearly salivating l as he reached around, feeling up her naked fanny.

"All right ma love, we are done 'ere," Mark announced, keeping in character.

The doors to the computer room suddenly opened, and in dashed several more guards, clad in the standard green jumpers and black berets of THRUSH.

"Hey, that's April Dancer. Get her and get him, whoever he is!"

The men took hold of her and April struggled in their grasp as they visciously wrenched her arms behind her back; one of them tore away at her dress, exposing her flimsy brassiere.

Mark turned, his gun in hand, darting the guards in rapid succession, but it was too late. He watched April collapse to the floor.

"Dear Lord no!" He ran to her side and checked, but couldn't feel a pulse and he detected the faint odor of bitter almonds. Mark's heart sank as he realized she must have taken the suicide pill.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a fresh magazine containing live rounds and switched it out for the one with the remaining sleep darts. It was time to fight dirty.

Slate hoisted April's body over his shoulder. If he was going to leave this world, it would be her. He stepped out into the corridor just as alarms began to blare. Solo and Kuryakin must have initiated their part of the plan.

.

Napoleon and Illya entered the Haberdashery, knowing full well they'd be instantly recognized.

They began to argue loudly and appeared to wrestle, knocking shirts and ties off nearby tables. They sent a mannequin flying just as some THRUSH goons came running out after them, but the UNCLE agents wasted no time in darting them.

The shop manager screamed like a girl, diving behind his counter.

Solo and Kuryakin heard the sound of muffled shots, and watched as Slate emerged through the curtained entryway carrying his partner over his shoulder.

"Down!" Illya yelled as he tossed an explosive device though the entrance once Mark was clear.

It detonated with an ear-shattering blast, sending smoke and debris into the air, and seconds later a larger explosion rocked the building.

Mark's work was done, but at what price? Napoleon said nothing as he took April's lifeless body from Slate into his arms. They quickly left the smoldering satrap, making their way back to their car.

Illya slipped into the driver's seat and Mark, pulling off his disguise, sat next to the Russian on the passenger side. His face ashen with grief at the loss of his partner.

Napoleon was slumped down in the back still cradling April in his arms.

Not a word was said as they drove across town, returning to headquarters. Illya pulled into the secure UNCLE  garage away from public view as they'd have to bring Dancer's body inside.

Napoleon's face was frozen in an impassioned gaze as he stared down at April, fighting back his emotions.

"Why, why did she do this?" He asked himself that over and over. They could have rescued her if she'd been capture; he truly believed that.

As the car pulled to a stop, medical personnel were waiting with a gurney, but it was then Solo heard a quiet moan, and watched in shock as April slowly opened her eyes while still in his arms.

He pulled her to him, whispering in her ear.

"Oh God April I thought I'd lost you."

"Hmm, now you know how I felt about Mark," she mumbled.

"Fair play," Slate called back to her as he fought back his own tears of joy. He took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

Napoleon gathered April into an embrace, kissing her cheeks, her nose and finally her lips.

She was finally lifted to the gurney and taken to medical for examination. Apparently the suicide pill she taken had been defective, and happily so.

After the incident Alexander Waverly decided to discontinue the use of such drastic measures with his people.

April, having been released from Medical after passing her checkup with no adverse after effect from the drug. She went with determination, straight to Waverly's conference room to give him a piece of her mind, but when she saw how upset he was at her possible death, she let her anger dissipate.

"My dear, I do apologize for the way we handled Mr. Slate's supposed demise. I was wrong in keeping you in the dark and should have trusted you to perform to the utmost of your ability. Your gesture to put your life on the line to help complete the mission today proved that. Can you forgive an...Old Man?"

He actually opened his arms to her, offering her a hug. Such familiarity was unheard of, but April cooperated, letting Alexander Waverly wrap his arms around her in a fatherly embrace.

"Yes sir I can but don't let it happen again," she laughed playfully, but meant every word of it.

"Rest assured my dear, I will not underestimate you again. On that you have my word."

Dancer spent the next few hours together with her partner in their office, simply chatting and feeling grateful they were both still alive. Later on Napoleon popped in, handing April what looked like an invitation; she opened it and as expected it was for dinner at the 21 Club and for whatever was to follow afterwards. Waverly had granted them all a few days R & R and Solo didn't waste any time in making plans.

Later that evening, she again found herself in the arms of Napoleon Solo. They stood on the balcony of their hotel room at the Ritz-Carlton there in the city; a brief but luxurious getaway for the both of them.

"Let's go somewhere tropical, maybe hop a flight to Miami, just you and me Red, "Napoleon spoke softly as the night breeze blew her hair out of place. He tucked the stray lock back in to where it belonged while the strains of a piano accompanied by a soulful saxaphone played on a radio inside.

Below them, the din of the city below was muted, and everywhere the lights twinkled, along with the stars; adding life to the darkness of the night sky.

"No. New York is fine. I love it here," April said. "Let's take a cruise on the Hudson River tomorrow, or go to Chinatown, or Times Square. I don't care. The city is so alive and vibrant and I want to share that with you Napoleon. I feel like I have a new lease on life, a second chance if you want to look at it that way. We travel the world all over but, there's no place like this city. It's become part of me, as well as you and U.N.C.L.E. I feel so out of touch when I'm away from here."

"Wow you're in a nostalgic New York state of mind aren't you?" He smiled.

"That and a Napoleon Solo state of mind. I'm sorry about this morning, I'm sure it upset you thinking I was dead. Trust me I didn't do it to teach anyone a lesson, but it sort of turned out like that didn't it?"

"I'll be honest, it did. It made me realize how important you are to me, and to the Command. It took a lot of guts to bite down on that pill. In a way it was an amazing power to have control over the moment you'd die. As spies we never know when death is going to come knocking do we? Sometimes I feel like we just live day to day."

"Well thank goodness it didn't work. I didn't really want to die but...well, it's different for a woman. Given we'd infiltrated Central, I figured I'd be in for the worst of it if captured and it looked like it was going to happen. That's why Waverly authorized the suicide pills. Torture is one thing but the abuse, humiliation and probably rape I would have suffered at the hands of those animals, well I wasn't about to let that happen."

"I understand, really I do." Napoleon turned her around and kissed her tenderly; in one swift move he scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the candle-lit sitting room to the bedroom.

He gently laid April down on the white satin coverlet; watching as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, and slipped out of her skirt. She was wearing flimsy and very sexy black lace underthings, and that suddenly jogged Napoleon's memory.

"Hey I forgot to ask,"he whispered, his voice now a little husky, "were you wearing panties today or not?"

April laughed, telling a white lie. "Of course I was darling."

"Good, because I wouldn't want anyone else to see what I see," Napoleon crinkled his nose as he lowered himself to her and they made love with more passion perhaps than they had in quite some time.

Second chances could do that to one's enthusiasm...

 


End file.
